I Caught My Fiancée On Security Cameras Measuring My House For Her Parents’ Furniture Behind My Back. She Even Forged My Authority For An Appraisal. How Do I Tell Everyone The Wedding Is Off?

The Cameras Don’t Lie

After the call I decided to do some investigating. Something about Nevada’s confidence was bugging me. She seemed way too sure that I’d cave, like she had information I didn’t know about. First thing I did was check the security system on the rental property.

I’ve got cameras on the front and back doors plus one overlooking the driveway. Mainly installed them to keep an eye on the tenants and make sure they’re not trashing the place or having unauthorized parties. I pulled up the footage from the past week, just routine checking, and that’s when I saw something that made my blood boil.

Wednesday afternoon, the day after Nevada stormed out of my house, there’s her car pulling into the driveway of my rental property. And she’s not alone. Two older people get out with her and I immediately recognize them as her parents.

I watched the footage of the three of them walking around my property for almost an hour. Nevada had keys somehow, probably made copies when we’d done a walkthrough together months ago so she could see the investment side of my portfolio. Her mom was taking pictures with her phone while her dad was actually measuring rooms with a tape measure.

They weren’t just looking at the house. They were planning how to use it. At one point, Nevada’s pointing to different rooms and her parents are nodding along, clearly discussing furniture placement or room assignments.

Her dad spent like 10 minutes in the garage, probably figuring out storage for his tools and lawn equipment. The whole thing lasted over an hour and they were clearly treating it like a house they were about to move into, not a property they were hoping to maybe receive someday.

Unauthorized Appraisal

But it gets worse. I called the property management company I use for tenant relations and maintenance issues. Asked Sarah, the office manager, if anyone had been asking questions about the Maple Street property lately.

“Actually yes,” she said. “A young woman called last week asking about getting an appraisal done, said she was the owner’s fiancée and you’d asked her to handle it for insurance purposes.”

My stomach dropped. “Did she give you a name?”

“Nevada something? She seemed to know details about the property so I didn’t think anything of it. Was I not supposed to help her?”

Nevada had gotten my rental property appraised behind my back. She’d impersonated my authority to get financial information about an asset I owned without my knowledge or permission.

“Sarah, I never asked her to do that. Please don’t provide any information about my properties to anyone without checking with me directly first.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. Should I not have authorized the appraisal?”

“It’s fine. Just send me a copy of the report when you get it.”

The appraisal came back at $285,000, which was actually higher than I’d estimated. So now Nevada knew exactly what she was asking for. Not just a house, but specifically a $285,000 asset that was worth more than most people make in 5 years.

That evening I was still processing all this when my phone buzzed with a text from Nevada. “Talked to my parents today. They’re so excited about the possibility of finally having their own place. Mom’s already planning her garden.”

She was using her parents’ emotions as leverage, making it harder for me to say no without disappointing people who were probably already mentally packing their apartment. But then she sent another text that really showed her true colors.

“I mean it’s basically our house anyway once we’re married right? Community property and all that. This way my parents get to enjoy it while they’re still young enough to really appreciate it.”

There it was—the real plan. Nevada thought that marrying me would give her legal claim to my assets. She was planning to use that house whether I agreed to gift it or not. The wedding gift angle was just her way of getting it transferred before I realized what community property laws actually meant.

Except she was wrong about the law. I checked with Sebastian. Property owned before marriage stays separate unless it gets co-mingled or jointly titled. My rental house would remain mine even after we got married as long as I didn’t add her name to the deed.

But Nevada didn’t know that. She thought she was being clever, getting me to voluntarily hand over something she assumed would become hers anyway. That night I made my decision.

The Confrontation

I started making calls and by Sunday night I’d quietly cancelled about 80% of our wedding arrangements. The only people who knew were the vendors and I’d asked them all to keep it confidential until I could speak with my fiancée directly. Monday morning Nevada called for her weekly check-in.

Her voice came through bright and chipper. “So what’s your decision?”

“I’ve made up my mind,” I said, cutting straight to it. “The wedding’s off.”

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. I could literally hear Nevada breathing while her brain tried to process what I just said.

“What do you mean? The wedding’s off?” She finally asked, voice smaller than I’d ever heard it.

“I’m not marrying you. We’re done.”

I didn’t expect silence after that. Nevada always had something to say. But what followed wasn’t a real conversation. It was just her trying to reverse engineer a future I no longer wanted.

She hit every phase of denial like a checklist. First, she said I was just stressed that the house situation had gotten in my head. Then she offered to forget all of it. Her parents, the appraisal, the entitlement—said we could start fresh just the two of us.

She didn’t get that the damage wasn’t just done. It was revealed. When that didn’t work, she snapped full meltdown. Screamed about how ungrateful I was, how I’d never find anyone who loved me like she did, how this was all a big overreaction. I let her rant. Then finally I spoke.

“You don’t love me, Nevada. You love what I could give you, and you got caught counting it early.”

I could almost hear her scrambling for ground to stand on. She tried to claim she’d just been excited. Said she wanted to show her parents how generous I was going to be, that it wasn’t meant to be behind my back.

But it was. She got my property appraised. She gave tours like she already owned it. She made calls pretending to be someone she wasn’t. And she didn’t expect me to have security cameras or that the management company logs every inquiry.

The fake crying started when she realized I wasn’t budging. She apologized. Well, she used the word “sorry” but only after being cornered, not because she meant it.

“I thought we were building something real,” she said. “3 years down the drain, just like that?”

“No,” I told her. “3 years showed me who you really are when you think you’re above consequences.”

That was the last real thing I said before ending the call. Told her to come pick up whatever she had left at my place before the week was out. And after that I didn’t want to hear from her again. Then I hung up.

And just like that, the future she’d designed without me collapsed. Not with a fight, not with a final plea, just with a click.